


❊ Goldilocks ❊

by Mythstaken



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythstaken/pseuds/Mythstaken
Summary: 'Gone' - Insight to Buffy cutting her hair while dealing with her trauma.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	❊ Goldilocks ❊

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

“Goldilocks.”

Shame. Disgust. Anger.

It was the way he said it. Arrogant glib. It was the way that Spike knew just how much she hated it and that was why he said it – with the malicious intent to get under her skin. When he gave it his own name, suddenly the hair wasn’t just her. It belonged to him, too, and the idea of that… the idea of him claiming her … in more ways than one ( in more ways than he already had ) , was enough to make her skin crawl.

There was no control. Everything around Buffy had been spiralling like a loose nook that wouldn’t tighten no matter how hard she tried. She had been trying. She had been desperately trying to keep things together, but coming back from the dead when you were in a place that had finally allowed you some peace, and then being thrown back into the mess that was Sunnydale… brought out a lot of bad decisions. Some of those decisions being Spike.

It was something she kept secret, because she could only imagine the looks of judgement she would get from everyone, and right now, she really did not need Xander’s sure to be snarky commentary. She didn’t need Willow’s sure to be pitiful looks. She didn’t need her sister to know that she was sleeping with a monster because she wouldn't understand. No one would understand — even Buffy didn’t understand it. Because she _knew_ it was wrong. She KNEW it. Buffy felt every time they finished, and suddenly she was in the dark, again. Every time the fire inside of her grew dim and she felt empty.

She came back wrong.

There was no other explanation as to why she felt like this, why the hollowness inside her grew day by day, but even as she went through the motions, life didn’t stop for her. Not when everyone else needed her, and depended on her. Buffy didn’t want to cause her friends any more pain, so it was why she kept it to myself, in hopes of pressing it down just enough for it to go away — but it scratched at the surface every time Spike was near because he knew what it was like, to live in the shadows, and when she was with him, the fire was back. Buffy didn’t feel like a walking corpse. There were no feelings, it was purely just physical, but she knew then that she wasn’t just a dead girl walking.

God, she wanted the fire back. Buffy didn’t want to feel like this. Why did she let him hurt her? Why did she let him use her? Why did she feel the need to use him? She hated it. She hated when he tried to claim her, to make her his in ways she didn’t want. When he put his fingers through her hair in ways that were more intimate than she wanted, when he took a whiff of the lingering scent of her shampoo, when he _understood_ why she needed to take, and take and still, take. But this relationship was anything but symbiotic, because he took from her, and he took, and even when she didn’t want him to, he took some more. It was a never ending duel, and somehow, despite having the upper hand, she always left feeling like she had lost. Soul, dignity, control - herself.

There was no control. It was like she was losing in every aspect of her life. Working double time at the Double Meat Palace, debt that had piled up while she was rotting, trying to make sure that Dawn stayed out of trouble without getting kidnapped, patrols, the way she had shut Dean out of her life because he needed the version of her who had been buried, the social worker who seemed to be making too many “x’s” on her sheet because everything was going haywire. Now, the one thing that was hers, which was her hair, and it was being claimed by filth.

There was anger, white hot, and everything rational flying out out the window as she took the pair of shears, cutting off every inch that he had taken from her, cutting off the length at where she could still feel him, cutting off every time his fingers had twisted in her hair, every reminder that she had rolled around in the one thing she was completely against. She wasn’t his Goldilocks. She wasn’t his anything. Her hair belonged to her, not him.

With every snip of the scissors, Buffy was regaining control over herself.

No more shame.

With every clip of blonde locks on the floor, he was shredding away.

No more disgust.

No more Spike.

There was only her.

For the first time, the thought of being alone wasn’t so daunting.


End file.
